


Raise a glass to freedom

by armyofbees



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Seriously this is dark, Songfic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: The air is so soft as he steps onto it.//Raise a glass to freedom.//





	

It is so welcoming.

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory._

There is nothing to be feared from it, the gentle darkness, ever so peaceful, ever so kind. It is not an enemy. It is an old comrade, a familiar face in the sea of colors and sensations and feelings that only God knew how to handle, and even then…

_Is this where it gets me?_

The rooftop is not tall. It is three stories in the air, tall enough to kill, low enough to hurt. _Good._ Pain is not an enemy. It is a reminder, a final sensation to be carried through, a memory of life. The rooftop is the best place for it, then. The winds are strong enough, it’ll feel like flying.

_I see it coming._

The ground is visible from where he stands. The building should be too tall to make out significant details, but, well. Endings always spiked his senses. Every crack in the sidewalk is an impact, on his life, on his death, on the ground. The ground will not crack under him. He is not enough.

_There is no beat, no melody._

It has reached him already, he knows. No heartbeat can be felt underneath his skin, no matter how many times he’s tried for a pulse. He is not even sure he can bleed anymore, and he supposes that he should probably have checked. It doesn’t matter, he is dead anyway.

_Is this how you remember me?_

Legacies do not matter when you do not matter, so this thought is pointless. No one will remember him, not really. No changes have been made, no impact has been felt, and the ground will not crack under him.

_What is a legacy?_

Changes left behind that might also change the future. There have been none from him, so he does not have a legacy. _If a legacy changes the future, does that include the impacts on those close to you?_ He dismisses the thought. The world has not changed. He has not made a change.

_America, you great unfinished symphony, you sent for me._

Wide-eyed and hopeful, though scrappy and hungry. That is how he came to this country, that is not how he will leave it. It’s almost nostalgic, the way he remembers hope. Hope is not something easily killed, he’s learned, but he is determined.

_Rise up._

The wind is picking up, and he wants to learn to fly. Is it as easy as it looks? The ledge is difficult to balance on, but he doesn’t mind. The sooner he flies, the better. The sky looks so warm.

_I’m running and my time’s up._

There was a time when he ran for the sake of it. There was a time when he ran for the love of it. Running to his mother, running to school, running to work, running straight off the edge of a building.

_Wise up._

Death is not the enemy. Is it? No, death is the friend. Pain is not the enemy. Is it? No, pain is the reminder. Then the enemy is his mind, but it has always been his mind that carried him through, it is his mind accusing itself. Is there really anyone at fault?

_Eyes up._

The sky is blue and pink and orange and yellow, like a watercolor painting. Again, he wants to fly, because it is oh so alluring, oh so lovely. His wings are spreading.

_Teach me how to say goodbye._

But there is no one to say goodbye to, no need to say goodbye. Nobody needed to know if he became another statistic. Nobody needed to hear the sound of him hitting the ground. That is how he says goodbye–silently.

_Rise up._

His wings have spread.

_Rise up._

The sky is so lovely.

_Rise up._

He is serene.

_I’ll see you on the other side._

His war is over, he is done. He can stop now, with this endless cycle of work and sleepless nights and more work. His job is over, he does not need to think anymore. The air is so soft as he steps onto it.

_Raise a glass to freedom._


End file.
